


Stone Lake

by menel



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Confessions, Developing Relationship, Helping others, Learning To Communicate, M/M, Organized Crime, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-01 23:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15784521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: After the events ofFallout, William Brandt finds himself on forced leave. When a call to his team leader has him unexpectedly accepting an invitation to Ethan’s hometown, it’s just the first of many surprises.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve shipped these two since _Ghost Protocol_ , but it’s taken me this long to write a fic. The muses be fickle. :)

When Will finally made the call, it wasn’t for any of the usual reasons. _You’ve been called into another Senate sub-committee hearing. The IMF is announcing a new Secretary. We need you back in the field._ No, it wasn’t for any of the usual reasons. Not that Will hadn’t spent some time trying to come up with something plausible, but in the end he’d thought, _What the hell?_ He could just call to find out how Ethan was doing. Couldn’t he?

The answer to that question wasn’t as simple as he wanted it to be. He and Ethan didn’t chat or do small talk, not the way Luther could call Ethan to shoot the breeze or Benji would just drop by with a bit of gossip. No, despite the years they’d been working together, he couldn’t claim that he and Ethan were close. They were friends…yes…maybe. But the word he most associated with his relationship to Ethan was professional. Theirs was a professional relationship based on mutual respect and trust. Why it had never progressed beyond that, Will didn’t care to analyze, even as he wished it were so. Ethan held him at a certain distance, within his circle of professional trust, but beyond his personal zone. Will wasn’t offended by this. He knew that hardly anyone broke Ethan’s personal zone. Ethan cared about others, sometimes too deeply, but that didn’t mean he allowed people to get close to him. Maybe one day Will would be able to crack that zone. He could always hope. 

He waited now as the phone rang in his ear. Ethan picked up on the third ring. 

“Hunt.” 

“Hey, it’s Brandt.” 

“Any news?”

A terrible lie was on the tip of Will’s tongue, but he pushed it aside. “No,” he said honestly. “I was just calling to see how you’re doing.” 

There was a beat longer than usual before Ethan said, “I’m fine.” 

_Of course_ , Will thought to himself. He hadn’t expected any other answer. There was a good chance that Ethan would end the call right then, so Will was surprised when the other man continued. 

“Still sore, but healing.” 

“Yeah,” Will agreed, before he could stop himself. “We don’t heal as quickly as we get older.”

“Are you trying to tell me something, Brandt?” 

“Maybe not to crash so many helicopters or jump off so many cliffs?” 

“But scaling the Burj Khalifa is still okay?” 

Will cracked a grin at the effortless banter. It was unfamiliar but welcome. He wondered if his amusement was filtering down the line. He could already imagine the half-smirk on Ethan’s face. He was pushing his luck, but he asked anyway. 

“So, what’re you up to? Aside from healing?” 

“Taking care of some family business.” 

The answer was smooth and unexpected. Will could feel the door on their ‘conversation’ closing, but Ethan took him by surprise again. 

“How about you?” 

“Me?” Will echoed, somewhat stupidly. 

“What’ve you been up to?” Ethan clarified.

“I’m on leave,” Will blurted out before he could think better of it. He hadn’t meant to tell Ethan that. 

“On leave,” Ethan repeated, and Will could hear the surprise in his voice. 

“Not by choice,” Will added, since the cat was out of the bag now. 

“Surprising,” Ethan murmured. “You were close to Hunley and the Secretary before him.” 

Will understood what Ethan wasn’t saying. “Maybe they’re after a clean slate,” he replied to the unspoken question. 

“Maybe,” Ethan agreed. 

A part of Will sensed that there was more Ethan wasn’t saying. He was about to ask, but Ethan beat him to it. 

“What’re your plans, now that you’re on leave?”

Will huffed out a small laugh. “I don’t know,” he answered, vaguely irritated that Ethan always got honest answers out of him without any effort. It was as if he was hardwired to be able to lie to anyone except his team leader. “Don’t have any.” Yet. 

“How do you feel about coming to Wisconsin?” 

“What’s in Wisconsin?” 

“I am.” 

There was a short pause as Will attempted to parse the meaning of that invitation. 

“I could use some help down here.” 

Will didn’t ask what sort of help or how any of this was related to Ethan’s ‘family business’ ( _if_ it was related at all). All he said was, “What’s the address?”

* * * * *

Will learned some interesting details about Wisconsin as he did a little reading on the 23rd largest state during the flight to Milwaukee. He’s been around the world, but never to Wisconsin. It boggled his mind to think that Ethan Hunt – THE Ethan Hunt – had grown up on a farm in Wisconsin. How did you go from farming to being the super spy of all super spies?

Of course, Will had pulled Ethan’s file before the security detail in Croatia. Even though they hadn’t met at the time, Ethan Hunt was a legend in the IMF. His file was easy to access because so much of it was blacked out, especially his early years with the military before the IMF recruited him. Will had looked at those pages and pages of redacted text and knew that they screamed covert ops. He wondered what Ethan had done before he’d turned his talents to spy craft. The IMF file wasn’t much better. Some of Ethan’s missions were so highly classified that only the Secretary, the Director of the CIA and the President had access to them. It made Ethan Hunt even more of an enigma and to this day, an enigma he remained.

From Milwaukee, Will rented a car. It was 333 miles from Milwaukee to Stone Lake. If Will drove non-stop, he’d be in Ethan’s hometown in five hours and nineteen minutes. Will didn’t know what sort of farm Ethan’s family had. Corn, maybe? Or dairy. That seemed likely. Wisconsin produced a quarter of the country’s cheese and was second only to California in milk production. He’d learned that Wisconsin had earned the affectionate nickname, “America’s Dairyland” because of it.

The answer to Will’s farm question was a pleasant surprise when he turned into the long drive leading up to the Hunt farmhouse. On the left side of the road were bogs – irrigated marshland that contained the low-growing vines of cranberries. 

Cranberries, of course. The name Stone Lake should’ve given it away. Cranberries required a water supply to grow and good irrigation. Will recalled that Wisconsin was the leading producer of cranberries, supplying over sixty percent of the US’s cranberry crop.

By the time Will parked in front of the white farmhouse, the light was falling fast. He heard the bang of a screen door closing just as he locked the car and when he looked up, duffel bag in hand, Ethan was striding toward him. Whatever cuts or bruises Ethan had were softened by the fading violet light. He looked fine to Will. Better than fine. There wasn’t even a hitch in Ethan’s step to indicate that he was in any kind of pain. It was moments like these that made Will wonder if Ethan wasn’t super-human after all.

“Wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” Ethan said, by way of greeting. 

Will shrugged. He’d met Ethan part way and now they were standing face to face. “Took an earlier flight,” he explained. “Didn’t have anything better to do.” 

“It’s the forced inactivity,” Ethan agreed. “It drives me crazy too.” 

“Should you be out of bed?” Will questioned, looking Ethan over. Belatedly, he realized how that question sounded and rephrased. “I mean, shouldn’t you be resting?” 

Ethan’s reply was deadpan. “Do I look like an invalid?”

“No, but…” Will hesitated. “It’s only been two weeks. And you’ve only been out of the hospital, what? Three days? Didn’t the doctor say you should rest for a month?” 

“He didn’t say _bed_ rest,” Ethan answered, his emphasis on the word ‘bed’ making Will inwardly flush. Now _he_ was the one thankful for the fading light.

A comfortable silence fell between them. Will realized that if he were Luther or even Benji, this was the moment that Ethan would lean over and hug him or give him a welcome pat on the back, maybe sling an arm across his shoulders as they walked back to the farmhouse. 

But Will wasn’t Luther or Benji. 

Instead, Ethan leaned over and made to reach for Will’s bag, which Will quickly pulled behind him. 

“I can carry my own bag,” he told Ethan pointedly.

Ethan stepped back and held up his hands in mock surrender. “Just trying to be hospitable,” he said. When he turned, Will automatically fell into step beside him. “Did you drive straight from Milwaukee?” 

“All five hours and nineteen minutes,” Will answered. 

“You must be starved.” 

“I _am_ a little hungry,” Will admitted. 

“Settle in,” Ethan said, holding the screen door open for Will to step inside. “I’ll rustle something up.” 

Ethan’s tour of the ground floor consisted of him pointing in various directions and saying the accompanying names of rooms, “Den. Kitchen. Study. Dining.” Then he pointed to the stairs and said, “Guest room’s the first door on the right. Bathroom is down the hall.” 

“Very hospitable,” Will commented, as he headed for the stairs. Behind him, he felt rather than saw Ethan’s smirk.

* * * * *

Will was bursting with curiosity when he stepped into Ethan’s childhood home, but he was also tired from the drive. There’d be time to explore the house and grounds tomorrow, but his training had him inevitably making a quick sweep anyway. The house was spacious but cozy. It felt lived-in and welcoming, which begged the question as to who actually lived here and ran the farm since Ethan obviously didn’t. He mentally raked his mind over Ethan’s file. Ethan didn’t have any siblings, as he recalled.

Will showered and changed, leaving his duffel unpacked on the bed. In fifteen minutes, he was back downstairs, wandering to the kitchen where Ethan was. If being in Ethan’s childhood home wasn’t surreal enough, watching his team leader being domestic in a kitchen nearly short-circuited Will’s brain. Will got a hold of himself and leaned in what he hoped was a casual way against the kitchen doorway. 

“Do you cook?” he asked. 

Even though his back was to Will, Ethan gave no outward reaction to Will’s question or presence. “Sometimes,” he said. “Don’t exactly have much opportunity,” he added.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Will asked, finally stepping inside and reaching for one of the two bottles of beer that Ethan had brought out. The bottle was ice cold, its glass not yet showing signs of condensation. Will had meant his question to be a joke, but it had come out sounding more serious than he intended. Watching Ethan’s back, he waited for an answer. 

“I’m no Michelin chef,” Ethan said. The lightness in his tone was exactly what Will had been aiming for and failed. Through the half-jest he translated Ethan’s words to mean, _I’m no Michelin chef but I’m still a good cook_. 

_He would have to be_ , Will thought, taking a long draught of his beer and leaning against the counter opposite Ethan. Ethan Hunt didn’t do anything half-heartedly. If he’d bothered to learn how to cook, then he’d _learned how to cook_.

“But nothing fancy tonight,” Ethan went on. He finished what he was doing and turned around holding two plates. “You see,” he said, as he motioned for Will to take a seat at the table. “The cupboards are pretty bare. Since I was expecting you tomorrow, I was also planning to stock up at the supermarket in the morning. We’ll have to make do with sandwiches.” 

Will refrained from raising an eyebrow as Ethan placed his sandwich in front of him. It looked like a perfect, deli-made roast beef sandwich, and later when he bit into it, the succulence and tenderness of the roast beef slices almost made him moan out loud. That wasn’t just his hunger talking either. At the moment, he opted to comment instead on the potato chips that accompanied the sandwich. Potato chips. Very un-Ethan Hunt. 

“Uncle Donald’s favorite,” Ethan explained, sitting back in his chair with his own bottle of beer. “I’m out of actual potatoes.”

The first bite of the sandwich confirmed Ethan’s gourmet sandwich-making skills. Will felt like he inhaled the whole thing in less than a minute, which clearly wasn’t true. Maybe three minutes? It was quick enough that Ethan was pushing his plate across the table at him. 

“Have mine,” he offered. 

Will protested, but Ethan brushed those protests away. “I can always make another sandwich, Will.” 

It was hard to argue with that faultless logic, so Will accepted the second sandwich and ate it at a more sedate pace. Harder to accept was the fact that Ethan had just called him ‘Will.’ He could count on one hand the number of times Ethan has used his given name (not that he was keeping track of such things).

Conversation was light and comfortable. Will tried not to focus on the fact that he and Ethan were having a _real_ conversation, one that wasn’t focused on work or generally saving the world. He wasn’t even sure they’d have anything to talk about outside of work, but Ethan did most of the heavy lifting and, as was Will’s way, he followed Ethan’s lead. They stayed in the kitchen for over an hour. By the time Will was on his second beer, he’d dropped his inhibitions. ( _Dangerous_ , a rational voice warned him, but Will shushed that voice away.) At some point, Ethan got up and made another sandwich. Grilled cheese, Will noted, making him wonder if he’d finished all the roast beef. (The answer was probably ‘yes.’)

Around eight o’clock, they moved out to the living room (when did it get so late?) and settled in front of the television to watch…Sunday Night Baseball. Somehow, Will wasn’t surprised. 

“I bet you were one of those three-sport athletes back in high school,” he commented, settling next to Ethan on the couch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ethan flash that patented smile.

“Weren’t you?” Ethan asked in return. 

“Hell no,” Will retorted. “I was the bespectacled, slightly overweight nerd.” 

Ethan glanced at him then and the 500 mega-watt smile had been dialed down to an affectionate grin. (Geezus, had he really catalogued all of Ethan’s smiles?!) “Never would’ve guessed,” he said. 

Maddeningly, beneath Ethan’s gentle ribbing, Will couldn’t tell if the other man was being serious or not. “You were, weren’t you?” he said after a moment, as the ESPN broadcast team began their opening spiel. “A three-sport athlete?” he clarified, at Ethan’s quizzical look.

“Yes, but baseball was my true love.” 

“Were you any good?” 

“I was scouted.” 

“Drafted, too?” 

“Didn’t sign.”

Will shook his head. Of course, Ethan would’ve been drafted right out of high school. He probably could’ve had a career in pro ball if he’d set his mind to it (because Will firmly believed that there was nothing Ethan couldn’t do once he set his mind to it). 

“You mind?” he asked, propping his legs up on the low coffee table in front of him. 

“I don’t,” Ethan answered. “But my mom would.” 

Will was about to move, but Ethan stopped him with a gesture. “It’s fine, Will. Don’t worry about it.” 

_Will._ Second time tonight. He basked in the glow of the unfamiliar familiarity. “Brewers, fan?” he questioned as the home team ran out onto the field.

“I probably should be,” Ethan admitted, and there was a slight note of embarrassment in his voice. Will glanced at him. “My family supports the Evil Empire.” 

“How did _that_ happen?” 

Ethan shrugged, his body language owning up to being a Yankees fan. “My dad’s from the Bronx,” he explained. “He was a die-hard Yankees fan. He met my mom while she was studying in New York and he converted her.” 

“Gawd,” Will groaned. 

“I take it you’re not a Yankees fan?” Ethan asked, amused. 

“I’m from Queens,” Will told him. 

“Ah,” Ethan said, knowingly. 

“What do you mean, ‘ah’?” 

“You’re a Mets fan.” 

Will sighed. “Don’t rub it in.” 

“The thought never crossed my mind.” 

Even without looking at him, Will could hear the smile in Ethan’s voice. He relaxed and took a pull from his third beer, thankful that neither the Mets nor the Yankees were being featured on Sunday Night Baseball.

* * * * *

The game lasted a little over three hours. Will had melted into the couch by then, too content to move. He’d drunk much more than he’d intended, and by the end of the game there were a healthy number of bottles on the coffee table. More bottles on his side than Ethan’s, he dimly noted.

“Can you make it upstairs?” Ethan asked him. He suddenly seemed very close to Will, close enough to touch and Will had to refrain from doing so. 

“I’m no lightweight, y’know,” he replied, voice only slightly slurred. He realized, belatedly, that Ethan wouldn’t know that because they’d never gone drinking together. Sure, the team would go out for drinks, especially after missions, but he and Ethan had never gone drinking just for the sake of it. They didn’t socialize. And he sure as hell had never seen _Ethan_ drunk.

And he was feeling a bit like a lightweight when he stood up and the room spun a little. But then Ethan was by his side, steadying him with an arm around his waist. It was only natural for Will to throw an arm around Ethan’s shoulders and lean into him. Right? 

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Ethan said. 

Will was starting to think that might take too much effort. “Could always just crash on your couch,” he said. 

“What kind of host would I be if I let you crash on the couch?” Ethan replied, maneuvering them towards the staircase.

Will was planning to say something but decided on focusing on his feet instead. One foot in front of the other. No tripping. Or falling on his face. Ethan wouldn’t let him fall on his face. Ethan smelled really good. Oh, no. Did he say that out loud? 

“Almost there,” Ethan was saying, sounding like he was trying not to laugh. 

Thankfully, Ethan was right as he pushed open the door to the guest bedroom. A few more steps and he’d set Will down on the welcoming bed. 

“You good?” Ethan asked, stepping away from him. 

Somehow, Will managed to stay upright, sitting at the foot of the wide bed. “I’m good,” he said, giving Ethan a slightly dorky wave as though to reassure him. “No need to tuck me in.” 

Ethan gave him a faint smile in return. “Right,” he agreed with a slight nod. “See you tomorrow, then.”

As soon as Ethan shut the door behind him, Will fell back on the sheets and was asleep in moments.

* * * * *

He woke sometime during the night with a need to piss. Sitting upright, his head complained. He let the ruckus calm for a moment before he tried standing up. Then, he experienced a brief moment of disorientation as he struggled to remember where he was. Right. Wisconsin. Ethan’s farmhouse.

Feeling his bladder about to burst, Will made for the door. 

_Bathroom’s down the hall._

Will turned right. The hallway was dark. No lights under any of the doors. He wondered vaguely which room belonged to Ethan. Would Ethan stay in the master bedroom? Probably not if he didn’t live here. His childhood room? Maybe. All those musings were cast aside as his bladder complained again. Will reached the bathroom and relieved himself.

When he woke up a second time, he was back in bed. He expected sunlight to be streaming in through the guest room’s windows, but the room was pleasantly dim. The curtains were drawn. Will propped himself up on one elbow, remembering how he’d had the presence of mind to strip down to his boxers and get under the covers once he’d returned from the bathroom. But he definitely hadn’t drawn the curtains. He was wondering about that when his gaze landed on the glass of water and bottle of aspirin on the bedside table. 

_Ethan._

“Mr. Hospitality,” Will muttered, reaching over and shaking two pills out of the bottle. He washed them down with the water and then swung his legs over the bed. “Mr. Perfect remains perfect.”

As he put the glass back on the bedside table, he noticed that it had been used to pin down a note. Will picked up the small sheet of stationary. In Ethan’s writing, it read: 

_Went to the supermarket. Should be back by the time you’re up. Ethan._

Will sighed as he stood up. He still had no idea what he was doing in Wisconsin.

* * * * *

True to his word, Ethan was back in the kitchen by the time Will dragged himself downstairs, his head not throbbing quite so much. The aspirin was kicking in.

“Do I get a Michelin breakfast?” he teased as he entered the kitchen. 

“A Michelin lunch,” Ethan corrected. “And no,” he added. “I told you I’m not a Michelin chef.” He passed Will a glass of orange juice. “Freshly squeezed,” he said. “No extra sugar.” 

“Healthy,” Will translated, accepting the glass with a nod of thanks. 

“How’s your head?” Ethan asked him. 

“Better,” Will replied, taking a seat at the table. “Thanks for the aspirin, by the way,” he added. “And for drawing the curtains.”

Ethan nodded before turning back to the burner. Whatever he was making smelled delicious. Will’s tummy grumbled in response. 

“Can I help?” Will asked after a moment. He felt totally useless and not quite up to asking what was really on his mind, _What am I doing here, Ethan?_

“Pretty much done, actually,” Ethan said. “But you can bring out the plates and cutlery.” He gestured vaguely behind him to the glass cupboards on Will’s right. 

So, Will stood up and began setting the table.

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later, they were both seated at the breakfast table. It felt different during the day, Will observed. Last night, the kitchen had felt warm and cozy to him. But in the daylight, he saw how bright and airy it was. Ethan probably ate all his meals here. Will had passed by the dining room twice now, and it felt like the most formal room in the house.

“Do you think you prepared enough?” Will asked in his most deadpan voice, eying the full spread in front of him. 

“I might have gone a little overboard,” Ethan admitted, pouring himself another glass of orange juice. “Not used to having company.” 

Will started a little at Ethan’s last comment. It was so unexpected. And so…truthful. There was no hint of irony in Ethan’s tone, no underlying meaning or light banter. It was simply an honest statement. 

“Well, there’ll be plenty of leftovers,” Will said, pushing their conversation in more general territory. 

“Dig in,” Ethan told him, and Will did.

* * * * *

“So, what’s the plan?” Will asked, sated and full at the end of a satisfying meal.

If Ethan cooked like this all the time, he’d gain twenty pounds in a matter of days. No wonder Ethan was an exercise freak. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat on his body and Will had checked. 

“Does there have to be a plan?” Ethan asked, collecting the used dishes. 

“You always have a plan,” Will told him, automatically helping the other man clean up. “Even if things don’t always go _according to_ plan. I don’t think you can take a vacation without having a plan.” 

Ethan flashed him a wry grin. “Says the man who has a contingency for the contingency,” he said. “Can you take a vacation without a plan?” 

Will scraped the leftovers off his plate before putting the dish in the sink. He reached for Ethan’s plate as well, intent on doing the dishes. Ethan took the hint and began putting away the leftover food in Tupperware containers. 

“Well, I’m not on vacation,” he reminded Ethan. “Sort of,” he amended. At Ethan’s pointed look, Will relented. “It’s hard to switch off,” he admitted. “A mission could spring up at any moment. That’s what it means to be an IMF agent. You’re always on call. Some more than others,” he added, giving Ethan his own pointed look. 

Ethan’s expression said, _Touché_. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Will asked again. 

“We’re going into town.”

* * * * *

Ethan didn’t actually tell Will _why_ they were going into town and Will (foolishly) didn’t ask. He almost felt like they were on a supply run, but instead of picking up ammunition and new tech they bought boxes and packing tape.

“Going somewhere?” Will asked jokingly, as they loaded up the pick up. 

“In a matter of speaking,” Ethan replied, somewhat enigmatically.

They took the long way back to the farmhouse, Ethan turning into a tour guide of sorts. Stone Lake was a small town and Ethan seemed to know everybody. Considering the man was a spy for a living, it was mildly disconcerting to Will how everyone they ran into greeted Ethan so warmly. What happened to anonymity? 

“What do these people think you do?” Will finally asked, as they turned into a small parking lot. 

“Accounting,” Ethan replied, turning off the engine and getting out. 

Will followed suit, holding back a laugh. When he stepped out of the pick up, he realized where Ethan was headed. “Oh no,” he immediately said. 

“What?” Ethan called back to him. “You have something against softball?” 

“Don’t you have broken ribs?” Will shot back. 

“Bruised,” Ethan corrected, as Will caught up to him. “I have bruised ribs. And we need to work off what we had for lunch.” 

“Exercise?” Will said. “This is about exercise?” 

“And fun, Brandt,” Ethan said. 

Will was silently stinging at being called ‘Brandt’ for the first time since he’d arrived in Stone Lake. 

“Don’t you remember how to have fun?” 

Ethan headed toward the group of guys who were obviously waiting for him. He glanced behind at Will, arms outstretched and with that patented smile. 

“It’s softball! What’s the worst that can happen?”

* * * * *

The worst that could happen was Will sliding into home, beating the tag but running and tumbling straight into the behemoth of a catcher (the man was built like a rock) who was blocking home plate (wasn’t that illegal?) and possibly breaking his ankle.

“C’mon guys, give him some room,” Will heard Ethan say and the faces hovering around him moved away only to be replaced by Ethan’s concerned expression. Will was lying flat on his back, winded, pain flaring from his ankle. 

“Can you sit up?” Ethan asked.

Will accepted Ethan’s proffered hand and allowed Ethan to pull him into a sitting position. He winced at the inadvertent pressure on his ankle. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said, through the flash and heat of the pain. 

Ethan had already taken off Will’s right sneaker and sock and was carefully examining the ankle. “No,” he agreed, after applying several pressure points and rotating the ankle slowly. “But that’s going to swell up pretty badly if we don’t get it looked after.” He stood up. “Game’s over for us,” Ethan told the others. 

There were murmurs of disappointment, but more “Good to see you, Ethan,” and “Nice meeting you, Will,” or “Take care of that ankle!” before the group disbanded. Will didn’t think Ethan meant to break up the game, but once they bowed out, it seemed like the game dissolved itself.

Will wondered, as he gingerly put on his sock (the sneaker was too much effort), if there was any place or anything that Ethan did where he somehow – inevitably – wasn’t the center of attention. Will knew all about that. He’d been stuck in Ethan’s gravitational field since Moscow, maybe since Croatia. 

Ethan turned back to him and held out his hand again. Once more, Will accepted it and allowed Ethan to pull him to his feet. Eerily similar to the night before, Will threw his right arm across Ethan’s shoulders and Ethan slipped his arm about Will’s waist. This time, however, Will was clear-headed. 

“I’m not going to make a habit of this,” Will told the other man, as he limped back to the pick up, sneaker in hand. 

“Spraining your ankle is tame compared to our usual life-threatening situations.” 

“You mean _your_ life-threatening situations,” Will corrected. 

Ethan had the good grace to laugh. “I’ve missed you out in the field,” he said, ruefulness in his voice. 

Will flushed with a warm pleasure at the admission. “Yeah, well…” he trailed off, finally glancing at Ethan. “I’ve missed it too.” 

What he really wanted to say was, _I’ve missed_ you, _too_.

* * * * *

Will spent what was left of the afternoon in Ethan’s living room, ankle properly wrapped and propped up on a cushion on the coffee table. He channel-surfed aimlessly while Ethan stayed outside, doing whatever needed to be done. Will knew nothing about cranberry farming, about farming in general. By the time, Ethan came back inside, Will was done sitting on his ass.

“I can hobble to the kitchen,” he called after Ethan. 

“Don't bother!” Ethan called back. “I’m just heating leftovers for dinner. Rest your ankle!” 

“I’ve been resting it all afternoon,” Will grumbled, but didn’t move from his spot. 

Ethan joined him in the living room about an hour later, freshly showered, changed and with dinner to boot. 

“This place has got really good service,” Will commented. 

“My mother raised me right,” Ethan replied. 

“So, Monday Night Baseball?” Will questioned, refusing the beer that Ethan offered him. 

Ethan gave him a knowing smirk. 

“I’m not mixing alcohol with the meds I took for my ankle,” Will explained. 

“Of course,” Ethan agreed, but he was still smirking. 

“Oh, give me that,” Will grumbled, reaching across Ethan to grab his beer. He wasn’t going to get drunk tonight. Everything in moderation. (Except when it came to Ethan Hunt.) “Monday Night Baseball?” he repeated.

“We could…” 

“Or…?” 

“We could just watch a movie.” 

“Did you have something in mind?” 

Will didn’t have any clue as to what kind of movies Ethan liked to watch. Sports? Adrenaline-fueled action films? Both seemed likely. 

“I’m sort of in the mood for Bond.” 

Will gave Ethan a hard look, trying to decipher that deadpan statement. He couldn’t tell if Ethan was pulling his leg or not, so he matched the other man’s deadpan tone. 

“Because if you can’t save the world, you’d rather live vicariously and watch a fictional spy do it?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Not _Spectre_ ,” Will said, after a beat. 

“No, not _Spectre_ ,” Ethan agreed. 

There was another beat and then they both said, simultaneously, “ _Casino Royale_.”

* * * * *

“Bond needs a facelift,” Will declared as the credits of _Casino Royale_ scrolled across the screen. “I thought the filmmakers really revitalized 007 with _Casino Royale_ , but then they took a massive step back with _Spectre_.”

“James Bond is iconic,” Ethan replied, switching off the television. “But he’s a character weighted down by his own tropes, some of them outdated.”

“Facelift,” Will repeated. He slouched on the couch, wondering if his ass had made a permanent indentation on the cushion since he’d been sitting there for hours. He shifted his right leg since it had gone to sleep during the film. “For a while there,” he went on. “I enjoyed the _Bourne_ films a lot more than Bond. Grittier. Darker. Felt more real.” 

“The original _Bourne_ trilogy is practically perfect,” Ethan said.

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “But that fourth film was terrible. And forget about the spin-off. That was like _Bourne_ B-Team and it showed.” 

Ethan chuckled. “It had some nice sequences,” he countered. “But it didn’t have the characterization or heart of the original trilogy.” 

“Well, now you’re just being generous,” Will told him. 

Ethan chuckled again.

“Y’know,” Will said into the comfortable silence that followed (he was getting used to those comfortable silences). “Hollywood could make some badass films based on your missions.” 

“I think the world is better off not knowing how many times it’s been on the brink of nuclear annihilation.” 

“Probably,” Will said, good-humoredly. “But like I said, Hollywood could make some badass films with the crazy stunts you regularly pull. Can you imagine the poor stuntman who’d have to strap himself to the side of a plane? Or climb the Burj Khalifa?” 

“I’d rather not,” Ethan laughed. “There’s always CGI.” 

“Wouldn’t be the same,” Will declared.

Sometime during their conversation, Ethan had turned sideways so that he was facing Will, his left arm stretched along the back of the couch, his hand so near that he could’ve brushed his fingers along Will’s nape. Will’s breath actually caught at the sudden realization of how close Ethan was. When did _that_ happen? 

“Will,” Ethan said. 

There was a commanding undertone in Ethan’s voice that had Will looking at him, his gaze traveling from Ethan’s mouth to those clear green eyes. 

“There’s something I want to confirm.” 

“What’s that?” Will asked faintly. 

“This.”

Before Will could process what was happening, the hand at the back of his nape was holding him steady so that Ethan could lean in and kiss him. Will was too shocked to react. He’d fantasized about this moment, but this particular scenario had never crossed his mind. By the time he registered the signals from his brain telling him to return the kiss, Ethan had pulled away. There was a thoughtful expression on the other man’s face. 

“Interesting,” he murmured. 

Will snapped out of his stupor. “That’s a little sudden, isn’t it?” he asked. 

Ethan leaned a little further away. Not the reaction Will wanted at all. 

“Is it?” he asked. “You’d rather wait, then?” 

“Hell, no!” Will exclaimed, grabbing a fistful of Ethan’s shirt and yanking the other man closer to him. A second later he changed his mind, pushing Ethan against the sofa. (Ethan looked very amused at Will’s manhandling.) Despite the violent protests of his ankle, Will reversed their positions, climbing into Ethan’s lap and settling there, Ethan’s hand resting on the small of his back. Ethan tipped his face up in an inviting gesture, an infuriating smirk on the corner of his lips. 

_Well_ , Will thought, just before he dived in to properly kiss the other man. _He’d just have to wipe that smirk off Ethan’s face._

* * * * *

Twenty minutes later, Will was naked on his bed, lying on his back with his thighs braced against Ethan’s. Ethan was half-kneeling between Will’s spread legs, conveniently taking the weight off Will’s injured ankle. He’d spent the past seven minutes stretching Will with lube-slicked fingers.

Will shuddered as Ethan brushed that spot again. “Geezus,” he said raggedly. “I could come on your fingers alone.” 

Ethan took the hint and withdrew his hand. He squeezed more lube onto his palm and then began slicking himself up. 

“Why are we in this room?” Will asked. Without Ethan’s fingers, he could think a bit more clearly. 

“Because you have the bigger bed,” Ethan answered, matter-of-factly. He paused his actions. “And it would be a little weird if I fucked you in my childhood bed.” 

Will stifled a laugh. “Do I get to see your childhood room?” he asked, a little wistfully. 

“Do you want to?” 

“Very much.” 

“Tomorrow then.”

Ethan had finished slicking himself up and grasped Will by the thighs, sliding him closer into the cradle of Ethan’s groin. 

“When did you know?” Will asked, grasping Ethan’s cock with his right hand, stroking it once, twice, before guiding the other man to his entrance. 

“I didn’t,” Ethan said. “Not really. Not until tonight.” 

“Bullshit,” Will said, squeezing tighter until he heard Ethan suck in his breath between his teeth. “You knew. Brandt this, Brandt that. Always keeping me at a distance. When did you know?” he repeated. 

“Since Seattle.” 

“That’s _years_ , Ethan,” Will said, almost losing his grip on Ethan’s cock. “What’s changed?”

“A lot,” Ethan said. He leaned over Will, bracing himself on either side of Will’s body. “Do you really want to talk about this now?” 

“Point taken,” Will agreed. “Fuck first, talk later.” 

Those were the last coherent words out of Will’s smart mouth as Ethan began his slow slide into Will’s body.

* * * * *

Will woke up again sometime during the night, but this time it wasn’t because he needed to piss. This time, his unconscious mind had driven him to wakefulness with a single thought.

“Is this a booty call?” he said aloud, raising himself to his elbows. Beside him, Ethan was sleeping. He shook the other man and even in the darkness of the room, Will could see Ethan’s training kick into gear. Ethan had gone from sleep to fully alert in less than a second. 

“My god, that’s what this is, isn’t it?” Will said, growing more agitated. “A damn booty call. You choose the guy who’s been pining after you for _years_ because you know he’s not going to say ‘no’ and –” 

Will was going to say more but got distracted as the bed began to shake with Ethan’s quiet laughter. 

“That’s what you woke me up to tell me?” Ethan said, when he caught his breath.

“I don’t hear you denying it,” Will retorted. 

Ethan began to laugh again. “You are so paranoid,” he said. 

“It’s part of the job description,” Will snapped. He was sitting up now. “And that’s still not a denial,” he added. 

“This is not a booty call,” Ethan finally said, still chuckling. 

“That’s not very convincing.” 

“This is not _just_ a booty call,” Ethan amended.

“You’re unbelievable,” Will muttered. He looked away. He was sitting on the side of the bed, his back to the other man. He knew he was over-reacting, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Nothing that had happened with Ethan over the past two days made any kind of sense. Ethan’s actions didn’t follow the blueprint Will had come to expect from him. 

“Will,” Ethan said, all humor gone from his voice. Will fought the urge to follow the underlying tone of command. “Do I really seem like that kind of guy?”

Will considered this. “No,” he exhaled, after what felt like a long moment. He finally looked back. Ethan was sitting up as well, leaning against the headboard. “I don’t really know you, Ethan,” Will admitted. “Even after all these years.” 

“Well, then,” Ethan said. “Maybe that’s why you’re here.” He patted the pillow beside him. “Come back to bed.”

Not quite willing to give in so easily, Will sat at the edge of the bed a while longer, his ankle throbbing and annoyed at him. Eventually, he lay back down, welcoming the arm that Ethan slung across his chest. One of those peaceful silences filled the room, broken only by Ethan’s even breathing. He wrapped his hand around Ethan’s wrist, as though he meant to keep the other man there. 

“I suppose it’s a little flattering being your booty call,” Will said into the darkened room. 

Will felt the gust of Ethan’s soft laugh against his skin. 

“Go to sleep, Will,” the other man said.

Will turned his head so that he could breathe in Ethan's scent. He fell asleep shortly after, his hand still wrapped protectively around Ethan's wrist.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Will woke up alone wondering if last night had been a dream. He shifted onto his back, felt the twinge in his backside and knew that last night hadn’t been a dream. What last night actually _meant_ , he wasn’t sure but there was no time to think about it when the door to the room opened and Ethan came in carrying a breakfast tray. 

“Wow,” Will said. “This is a full service place.” He pushed himself to a sitting position, amazed. It had never occurred to him that Ethan would be so romantic, but that also made sense in a way. 

“Special service for the walking wounded,” Ethan replied. 

Will couldn’t help but laugh as he moved over, making room for Ethan on the bed. 

“How’s the ankle?” Ethan asked, setting the tray in front of Will. Will was reaching for one of the steaming mugs of coffee before the tray was even down. Breakfast was another full spread. Ethan was spoiling him. 

“Better, I hope,” he said, after taking a deep drink. Black coffee with a touch of brown sugar, just the way he liked it. The caffeine woke him up immediately. He leaned back against the pillows as Ethan set about examining his ankle.

“The swelling hasn’t gone down as much as I’d hoped,” Ethan commented. 

“Gee, I wonder why?” Will said with false surprise. 

Ethan glanced up at him. “Hey, I was very considerate last night,” he said. 

“You were,” Will assured him.

Despite his teasing, Will was well aware of how considerate Ethan had been, and it hadn’t surprised him in the least that the other man had been such a considerate lover. In a way, he’d never expected anything less. “You have mother hen tendencies,” he observed, as Ethan continued to inspect his ankle. 

“Only for those I care about,” Ethan replied without missing a beat. 

Will hid his flush behind his coffee mug, thankful that Ethan hadn’t looked up this time. How could Ethan just say stuff like that without any trace of irony? He could barely wrap his head around the fact that so much had changed between them in less than forty-eight hours. He drank more coffee until Ethan joined him at the head of the bed, stretching out beside him. 

“Have you eaten?” he asked, as Ethan reached for the second mug of coffee. 

“Downstairs,” the other man replied. “That’s all yours.” 

“Do you ever sleep in?” 

“No, not really.” 

“Typical.” 

“It’s not that late, Will.” 

“No, but you’ve already had your morning run, showered, ate breakfast, made breakfast for me, probably looked over the farm…” Will rattled off the list of items, noticing how Ethan didn’t contradict him. “Am I wrong?” 

“Nope.” 

There was that maddening grin, but for the first time Will felt like he had the right to kiss it away. So, he showed remarkable restraint and dug into his French toast instead. They fell into another companionable silence, Will eating his breakfast while Ethan drank his coffee. Despite what he’d said, Ethan eventually snatched a bacon rasher off Will’s plate. 

“So,” Will eventually said, when he was down to the last few bites of toast, bacon and slow cooked beans. “Are you going to tell me what I’m doing here?” 

“You mean, aside from being my booty call?” 

Will managed not to choke, but the dirty look he gave Ethan was met by a sly grin. “You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?” 

“Not for a while, no.” 

“So, what am I doing here aside from being your booty call?” 

“There’s a bit of a story behind that.” 

“I’m all ears.” 

“Well,” Ethan said, settling more comfortably against the propped pillows. “The folks are on vacation. I sent them on a cruise.”

 _Folks_ , Will thought. He recalled reading that Ethan’s father had died of cancer some years ago. 

As if reading his mind, Ethan explained, “My mom and Uncle Donald. It’s cliché but they married seven years after my dad passed. I still think of him as Uncle Donald, though. Good man. My father’s younger brother.” 

“So, you sent your folks on vacation…” Will summarized. 

“They want to retire and, frankly, it’s long overdue. The farm’s become too much for them to handle, even with the help they hire. And it’s pretty clear that I’m not going to take over.” 

“No siblings either,” Will commented. 

“None.” 

“So, taking care of family business means…” 

“It means I’m here to sell the farm. I bought my mom and Uncle Donald a small place in Florida. They like the warm weather. As a bonus, it’s near the Yankees spring training complex.” 

“Tampa,” Will filled in. “Y’know, the Mets spring training facility is down there too.”

“On the other side,” Ethan replied, with a smile. “Anyway, I’m in charge of packing this place up.” 

“Moving is stressful.” 

“Which is why I’m doing it for them. By the time they get back from their cruise, everything should be sorted out. All they have to do is settle in.” 

“Manual labor, then,” Will translated. “I’m here to help you pack.” 

“Underwhelming?” Ethan asked. 

“Mundane,” Will said. Then he grinned. “I like it.” 

“That was easy.” 

“Hey, Ethan. If your dad’s from the Bronx, how’d he wind up here?” 

“This farm has been in my mom’s family for generations,” Ethan explained. “My dad fell in love and followed her home.” 

Will wondered if Ethan had inherited his romantic streak from his father. Out loud, he said, “She’s not broken up about selling this place?” 

“She’s a little sad, but…”Ethan trailed off. “She understands it’s time.” 

“And you’re okay with selling this place?” 

Ethan looked thoughtful. “Yeah,” he said, after a while. “I’ve made my life elsewhere.” 

Will could feel his heartbeat quicken slightly, even though he was certain that he hadn’t given away any exterior signs. He wondered what Ethan meant by that last statement and how (or _if_ ) he fit into it.

* * * * *

After Will finished his breakfast, Ethan brought down the tray. When he came upstairs again, he had a pair of crutches with him.

“Really?” Will said, unimpressed. 

“You need to keep your weight off that ankle,” Ethan reminded him. “Especially for the next few days. Elevate and keep it compressed. Unless you’d rather I carried you around?” 

“Ha, ha,” Will said dryly, though the image flashed through his mind. “I’ll manage. And here I thought you’d be the invalid.” 

“Funny how things change,” Ethan commented, but he was smiling as he helped Will up. 

Will waited, bearing his weight on his good leg as Ethan adjusted the crutches for him. “So, where’s your childhood bedroom?” he asked. 

“You want to look at it now?” 

“I need to piss first, but yeah. It’s ‘tomorrow,’ right?” 

“It’s on the way to the bathroom.” Ethan stepped back. “Try them out,” he suggested, motioning to the crutches. 

Will hadn’t used crutches in years, but it was easy enough. Ethan had fitted them so that they comfortably rested under his armpits with the crutch handles falling waist-high. Will moved both crutches forward together, eased his body into them and then stepped forward with his good leg. 

“Perfect fit,” he told Ethan. “Yours?” 

“Uncle Donald’s. He once broke his leg falling from a ladder.” 

“Ouch.” 

“Could’ve been worse. Thankful that it wasn’t.” 

Will nodded at the door. “You mind?” 

Ethan took the hint and opened the door. He gestured. “After you,” he said magnanimously. 

A quick retort was on the tip of Will’s tongue but he bit it back. It felt strange after years of professionalism to be the focus of Ethan’s attention and affection. Stranger still that he had Ethan to himself. He supposed that putting up with Ethan’s gentle teasing was part of the package…. and he could live with that. 

The hallway was wide enough for them to walk side-by-side, Ethan’s hand hovering, but not quite touching, his waist. _Mother hen_ , Will thought again, and it made him inwardly smile.

Ethan motioned to the bedroom on the left as they passed it. “That’s mine,” he said. There was another bedroom on the right beside Will’s own and the master bedroom was at the opposite end of the hallway. They’d reached the bathroom door and Ethan opened that as well. 

“I’ll be fine,” Will said, slowly stepping inside. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’ll be fine,” Will repeated, swinging the door shut with one of his crutches before Ethan could say anything else. 

When he opened the door a few minutes later, Ethan was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for him. It was ridiculous, really, how attractive Will found the other man just _leaning against a wall_. 

Will paused and gave Ethan a pointed look. “The hovering is a little creepy,” he told him. 

Ethan grinned in return. “I won’t be hovering all day,” he replied. “Just escorting you to my room.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Yes,” Ethan assured him, pushing himself off the wall.

Ethan was about to walk away, but before Will realized what he was doing, he’d reached out and stopped the other man with a hand on his arm. He wasn’t sure why he’d done that, but Ethan seemed to have a better idea since he stepped into Will’s space, hands landing lightly on Will’s waist. There was something both calculating and expectant in Ethan’s expression, but he didn’t do anything else, seemingly content to see if Will would do anything in return. 

_I’m allowed to do this now_ , Will silently told himself, even as his brain tried to come to grips with the idea. Before he could over-think things, he leaned forward and kissed the other man. He’d only meant it to be a gentle kiss, a quick brush of lips against lips, but his body had other ideas. Ethan didn’t object either when Will deepened the kiss. Ethan let him lead and Will felt a small thrill at the subtle control. 

“This is sickeningly sweet,” Will said when the kiss ended, resting his forehead on Ethan’s shoulder. 

“Too much?” 

“No,” Will said with a sigh. “Just right.”

He lifted his head just as Ethan slid his arm around Will’s waist to support him. Will relinquished the left crutch to the other man, but kept the one on the right. It was only a couple of steps to Ethan’s bedroom. When they reached it, Ethan opened the door again and handed the crutch back to Will so that he could explore the room on his own. Ethan hung back by the doorway as Will entered. 

Will’s focus was razor sharp, taking in the details of the room. The bed was a comfortable sized single, but would be a tight squeeze for two grown men. ( _Not an unappealing thought_ , Will mused.) It was in the center of the room. There was a bureau on the right with a stack of trophies on top and a few banners hung on the wall behind them, proof of Ethan’s high school three-sport prowess. They weren’t all sports awards though, as Will caught flashes of ‘Debate Society’ and ‘Science Competition.’ So, Ethan had been a jock _and_ a nerd. 

He wondered if Ethan would tell him any stories behind those trophies if he asked. He didn’t get a chance, however, as the doorbell chimed. Ethan glanced back out the hallway before looking at Will again.

“You going to be okay in here?” 

“Go see who’s at the door,” Will told him. “Mother hen,” he added, just before Ethan turned away. 

Ethan let the comment slide, flashing another one of those grins before disappearing down the hallway. Will spent a few more minutes examining the room, but eventually decided that Ethan’s bed looked far too inviting. He decided to lie down for a moment, vaguely wondering who was at the door.

* * * * *

When Will startled awake, he was momentarily disoriented again in the unfamiliar room. He got his bearings quickly, glancing at the old-fashioned clock on the nightstand. He’d dozed off for nearly an hour. Ethan could’ve come back, but Will wouldn’t have known. And based on their recent interaction, it would be just like Ethan to let Will sleep the morning away. He lay in bed for a while longer, liking how the mattress dipped slightly. Not great for the back, his training reminded him, but it spoke of long use and Will liked the history that accompanied that. This was Ethan’s childhood bed and it _felt_ like it.

He eventually dragged himself out of bed, feeling the need to wash and put on fresh clothes. Out in the hallway, the sound of voices filtered up to him, alerting him that Ethan had a guest. (It was unlikely then, that Ethan had come back upstairs.) Will did wash and change and by the time he was hobbling downstairs, he looked presentable enough for visitors. He followed the sound of the voices to the living room where he was greeted by the sight of a raven-haired woman sitting on the sofa talking to Ethan. She looked better now, but Will took in the handkerchief that she gripped in her right hand and the slight puffiness around her eyes when Ethan introduced them. Her name was Karen Driver, old family friend, neighbor and from what Will could glean, possibly Ethan’s high school girlfriend. She certainly looked the right age. But Karen was married now – widowed, Will inferred – had a problem of some sort, had heard that Ethan was in town and had turned to him for help. Will would have to get the rest of the details from Ethan, since Karen’s visit ended soon after he sat down. Ethan escorted her out, made an indistinct promise that Will couldn’t catch and then Ethan was back in the living room just as Will was settling on the couch in Karen’s place. Ethan sat beside him and leaned back. He didn’t look troubled, more…concerned. 

“Everything okay?” Will asked, knowing perfectly well that it wasn’t. 

Ethan shook his head in reply. “Karen has a son, Miles,” he said. “Recently discharged from the army. Hasn’t readjusted well to civilian life. Been getting in trouble, getting in fights. That stopped so Karen thought he was on the right track, but for the past three weekends, he’s been coming home pretty beat up. He won’t tell her what’s going on, but she knows just by looking at him that he’s in trouble.” 

“Has she been to the police?” Will asked. 

“Not much the cops can actually do,” Ethan admitted. “No crime’s been committed – as far as they know.” 

“But you think otherwise?” Will translated. 

“I have an idea,” Ethan admitted. “Miles is a good fighter. He’s got skills. But if he’s not getting into local bar room brawls, that means he’s found another outlet for his fighting. And judging by the descriptions Karen gave me, these aren’t your average licensed fights.” 

“You’re thinking full contact bare-knuckle fighting.” 

“I am. Maybe something worse.” 

“You have those sort of fights here in Stone Lake?” 

“Not in Stone Lake. These fights have to be out of town.” 

“So, what’s the play?” 

“I’ll check in on Miles during the week, tail him to his next fight on the weekend.” 

“And in the meantime?” 

“In the meantime, I need to meet with lawyers. There’s already a potential buyer for the farm. I also need to decide what to pack, sell or leave behind. As for you,” Ethan said, glancing at Will. “You need to heal up, and then I’m putting you to work.” 

“Are you going to be the bossy one in this relationship?” 

Ethan gave him a wry grin. “It’s part of the job description,” he said.

* * * * *

Ethan was true to his word and the rest of the week was busy. He did meet with lawyers, as well as the potential buyer of the farm. He began cataloguing the house, which Will helped him with. On two separate afternoons, they tailed after Miles. The kid was wiry, but Will could tell that he was strong. He moved like a man that had military training. Through the IMF database, he pulled up Miles’s army file. The kid had made two tours of Afghanistan and had served with distinction both times.

On one of the afternoons that they tailed Miles, Ethan had a ‘casual’ run-in with him at the supermarket. From a distance, Will observed their interaction, listening through the com device that Ethan had snugly fit into his ear. Miles seemed genuinely pleased to see Ethan. His greeting was warm and friendly, accompanied by an invitation to dinner that Ethan rain-checked. If it hadn’t been for Karen’s stories and the fading bruises on Miles’s arms and face, there was nothing to suggest that the kid was in any kind of trouble or living some kind of double life. He didn’t look or sound like a troublemaker, but Will had learned long ago not to make judgments based on appearance. 

“So, what’s your take on that?” Will asked, as he casually strolled up to Ethan with their trolley when Miles had lined up at one of the checkout counters. 

“He’s in some kind of trouble,” Ethan said, placing the bottle of extra virgin olive oil that he’d been holding into the trolley. “Couldn’t make much eye contact with me, which is unusual for him. A little fidgety, too.” 

“Seemed genuinely happy to see you though,” Will commented, as they continued to walk down the aisle. He pulled a bottle of sliced black olives from the shelf and put that in the trolley as well. 

“I’d go so far as to say ‘relieved,’” Ethan said. 

Will stopped pushing the trolley and Ethan automatically stopped walking as well. “Do these people really think you’re an accountant?” he asked. 

“An accountant, an investment banker, a tax inspector,” Ethan replied with a grin. “They got it into their heads that I work in the financial sector and I’ve never dispelled the notion. They just think of me as the homegrown kid that moved out to the big city.” 

“And became successful?” 

“That’s how the story goes.” 

Ethan pushed the trolley forward and Will took the hint. He’d given up his crutches the day before, but he still liked leaning on the trolley for a little support. 

“But they also know that you were in the army,” Will went on. “So, they probably also think of you as a badass.” When Ethan didn’t respond, Will glanced at him. “If only they knew, right?” 

“Pot kettle black, Will,” Ethan told him with a grin. Then his expression sobered. “I’ve been looking into the local underground fight scene. As I suspected, there’s nothing nearby, which means Miles is definitely going out of the county for the fights.” 

“Makes sense,” Will agreed. “Karen said he’s gone the whole weekend, comes back on Monday a bloody pulp. You know where we’re going this weekend?” 

“My best guess? We’re going to Madison.”

* * * * *

Ethan’s best guess turned out to be the right guess. On Saturday afternoon, they followed Miles out of Stone Lake and headed southeast. By the time they stopped at Black Leaf Falls, which was the midway point between Stone Lake and Madison, Will had no doubt where they were headed. Miles grabbed a quick bite; Ethan and Will did the same. Then they were on the road again.

Two hours later, Miles checked into a motel on the outskirts of Madison. He killed about an hour there before heading out again. Ethan already had a list of potential fight locations, and it was almost inevitable that Miles went to the biggest one – The Underground. 

“Well, this is hardly subtle,” Will said under his breath as he and Ethan entered the unfinished two-story building converted into a fight arena. 

There was only one entrance, a wide driveway that lead downwards, obviously meant to be for delivery trucks but was now filled with people entering the arena. Even though he and Ethan were dressed casually, Will felt like they stuck out like sore thumbs. At least, _he_ felt like it. Ethan seemed to be blending in just fine. The closed space was rank, with not much in the way of ventilation. The air hung heavy with the stench of sweat, piss and alcohol. Still, Ethan sliced his way through the crowd, barely seeming to touch the rowdy, drunken men as he passed. Will jostled along behind him as Ethan peeled to the right of the building where a narrow hallway led to a row of rooms where the fighters had congregated. Ethan ducked into the second room before anyone could stop him and Will followed suit, guarding the door.

Miles was by himself, preparing for his fight. He looked up in shock at the sight of Ethan striding towards him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hissed, instinctively backing away. 

“Stopping you from getting killed,” Ethan told him. 

Miles was shaking his head vehemently. “No man, you don’t understand,” he was saying. “I _have_ to fight.” 

“You’re right,” Ethan agreed. “I don’t understand, and you’re going to explain it to me. But not here. We’re leaving. Now.”

Miles held his ground. “I can’t,” he said, an undertone of resignation creeping into his voice. “You don’t run out on these people. I owe them. I fight until I’ve paid them back.” 

“And who are these people?” Ethan asked, zeroing in on the most important detail. “Maybe we can make a deal.” 

Miles was still shaking his head. “You don’t make deals with them, Ethan,” he said. “This isn’t Wall Street.” 

“Everybody has a price, Miles,” Ethan said. “And I can be very persuasive.” 

Ethan had his back to Will so he couldn’t see the other man’s expression, but he saw the change come over Miles’s face. Something in Ethan’s tone and his look had convinced the younger man that he wasn’t fucking around. 

“Who do I speak to?” Ethan asked. 

“The Red Baron.”

* * * * *

Will thought the Red Baron sounded vaguely like the name of a comic book villain since he couldn’t imagine an underground fight promoter in Wisconsin alluding to the famous German fighter pilot of World War I. But any questions Will had on the choice of moniker were quickly answered when he met the man himself. The Red Baron was a somewhat portly man wearing a crisp white suit, but his most distinctive feature was his shock of curly red hair and neatly trimmed beard. His green eyes were piercing when Miles entered the room with Ethan by his side, and Will following behind the two other men. This room, larger than the others, passed for an office of some sort and when they entered, the Red Baron was standing in front of his desk accompanied by three of his goons scattered around the room. Will took a passing glance at their weapons – two of them carried shotguns – and known that Ethan had done the same. Between the two of them – even with his still slightly bum ankle – they would be able to clear the room, if it came to that. The horde outside, on the other hand, might prove to be another problem.

“Well, Miles,” the Red Baron said, giving Ethan a calculating look. “What have we here?” 

Before Miles could answer, Ethan spoke up, hand outstretched. “My name is Ethan Hunt,” he said. “And I’m here to settle my nephew’s debt.” 

The Red Baron’s gaze dropped to Ethan’s outstretched hand. A moment passed before he decided to shake it. “Well, Mr. Hunt,” he said. “Your nephew has accumulated quite a debt with us, but the arrangement we’ve reached has proved to be satisfactory.” 

“Not to me,” Ethan said, something like steel entering his voice. “Nor to his mother. Perhaps we can arrive at another arrangement.” 

The Red Barron shrugged, turning away. He opened a cheap cigar case on top of the desk and took out one of the cigars. Ethan waited patiently as the other man lit it. “And what did you have in mind?” the Red Baron finally asked, turning back to Ethan. 

“What do you need?” 

“I need fighters, Mr. Hunt,” the Red Baron replied. “And your nephew is a most capable fighter.” 

“I’m better.” 

Will and Miles started at the same time, while the Red Baron laughed. Will flashed through the implications of Ethan’s statement. Taking Miles’s place in the ring had, of course, crossed his analytic mind, but it had seemed low on the probability meter. It appeared Ethan had other ideas. 

The Red Baron made a dismissive gesture, still chuckling as the goon on his right stepped towards Ethan threateningly. In less than two seconds, the man was unconscious on the floor, followed by the second goon who’d never even gotten a chance to lift his shotgun. Will took care of the third man, who was nearest to him, disarming him and having him kneel on the floor with his hands clasped behind his head, as Will kept the shotgun trained on him. 

“I’m better,” Ethan said again, stepping over the unconscious men towards the Red Baron. 

To his credit, the Red Baron remained unfazed even though it was pretty clear that Ethan could simply snap his neck if he wanted to. He continued smoking his cigar, sizing Ethan up before eventually sliding away from him, working his way around the desk until he was seated behind it. Will knew that there was most likely a concealed weapon underneath the desk, but the Red Baron smartly kept his hands in plain sight. 

“Yes, Mr. Hunt, I can see that,” the Red Baron finally said. “But being better isn’t necessarily an advantage.” 

“And why’s that?” Ethan asked, body language relaxing but still alert. 

“Because Miles here was never supposed to win his fight,” the Red Baron explained. “There’s more money to be had when you control the outcome. And Miles owes me a great deal of money. Y’see, Miles here has won his last three fights and tonight, he’s supposed to face our champion. But our champion’s very popular and I never intended for him to lose. Can you do that, Mr. Hunt? Can you throw a fight? Convincingly? You don’t look like a man who knows how to lose.” 

“I’ve taken a few punches in my time,” Ethan said. 

“And always picked yourself up, I imagine.” 

“I’m a quick learner.” 

“I suppose we’ll see about that,” the Red Baron replied. He leaned back in his chair a little smugly. 

Will could feel the tide turning in Ethan’s favor. The Red Baron was interested in him, which was a little unsettling in itself. 

“Let’s make tonight’s fight a sort of test, shall we?” he suggested. “To see what sort of skills you have, Mr. Hunt. And if you perform well enough, maybe we can reach another arrangement after all.”

By the time they left the office with Will and Miles on the either side of Ethan, the two goons were still unconscious. Will had returned the shotgun to the third man, who’d snatched the weapon from him angrily and then proceeded to jab Will with it. Will held up his hands in a non-threatening manner and then fell into step beside Ethan. 

“Well, that didn’t go the way I thought it would,” Will said to Ethan when they were back in the hallway. 

“And what did you think would happen?” Ethan asked in return as they neared Miles’s room. 

“Oh, I dunno,” Will said with a casual shrug. He rounded on Ethan once they’d entered Miles’s room. “Maybe knock the bad guys unconscious and walk out with the kid.” 

“The ‘kid’ is right here,” Miles said, a little testily. 

Will ignored him, keeping his gaze focused on Ethan. “Any reason why we’re not doing that?” 

“I want to learn a bit more about this operation.” 

“First hand?” Will said, a little incredulously. “Because I’m pretty sure we could just ask Benji to pull up a file. Hell, either one of us could pull up a file.” 

Will found himself momentarily distracted by the fond look that Ethan was giving him. _Damn_. He hadn’t yet considered how changing his relationship to Ethan might also change their dynamic in the field. 

“The Red Baron wasn’t wrong in there,” Will continued, pushing his distraction aside. “Do you _know_ how to lose a fight?” 

“I can lose,” Ethan insisted. 

“Are you _sure_?” 

“I can lose.” 

Miles, who had been watching the interaction between the two men with his arms crossed, finally spoke again. “You’re not really an accountant, are you, _Uncle_ Ethan?” 

Ethan looked at the young man. “No Miles,” he said. “I’m really not.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ethan’s fight with the Red Baron’s champion was the centerpiece of the night, which also meant that it was the last match. That meant that Ethan, Will and Miles could push their way into the crowd to watch the earlier matches. They climbed to the second floor of the arena so that Will and Ethan could get a better sense of the layout, as well as the fights themselves. There were also less people on the second floor simply because there was less space, which meant that the area was fractionally less noisy. 

“All they’re missing is a cage,” Will said loudly to Ethan. 

Miles, who was standing on Ethan’s other side, heard him and replied, “Sometimes there _is_ a cage. They like to mix things up.” 

“Is it a fight to the death?” Ethan asked him. 

“Not necessarily,” Miles answered. “I mean, that’s not the goal. But it happens.” 

“Does it happen with the champion?”

Miles briefly averted his gaze before he looked at Ethan again. “Sometimes,” he said evenly. 

Ethan turned to face him, dropping his voice so that the people around them wouldn’t hear. “What were you thinking throwing a fight against somebody like that?” 

“I wasn’t really throwing a fight,” Miles hissed back. “I never stood a chance of winning. And apparently, unlike you, _Uncle_ Ethan, I know how to lose.” 

Ethan looked like he wanted to say something to that but held back. Now wasn’t the time. He raised his voice again so that Will could hear him and said, “Tell me about this champion.” 

Will shifted, moving to the other side of Miles to better hear his answer. 

Miles shrugged. “Not much to tell,” he said, his gaze dropping to the match below. “Never actually seen him before. Just heard stuff.”

“Then what’ve you heard?” Will prodded. He, too, was watching the fight below. He and Ethan could handle these guys. From what he’d seen so far, the fighters were more brawlers than they were tacticians. Some had boxing training, others came with an MMA background, still others – like Miles – had military training, but no one so far was as technically skilled as Ethan. Not for the first time, Will wondered how convincingly Ethan could throw a fight. Throwing a fight meant getting hurt, taking big hits and Will _hated_ the idea of Ethan doing that so soon after Kashmir. 

“He’s called The Russian,” Miles said. 

“Original,” Will commented dryly. “Is he actually from Russia?” 

“I think so. Georgia, or maybe the Ukraine. One of the former Soviet states.” 

“Spetsnaz?” Ethan questioned. 

Will looked at him sharply, wondering how Ethan had made that leap. 

“Possibly,” Miles said, a little reluctantly. “I’ve heard he’s got training. Everybody here’s got some sort of training; otherwise they wouldn’t be stupid enough to get in the ring. But The Russian has _real_ training.”

“This is just getting better and better,” Will said quietly, low enough that he didn’t think Ethan had heard him. 

“Hey,” Miles suddenly said, nudging Ethan with his elbow. But Ethan already knew what Miles was going to say, just as Will did. One of the goons – the first one that Ethan had knocked unconscious in the Red Baron’s office – was signaling to them from the ground floor. 

“Time to get ready,” Ethan said, moving away from the balcony.

* * * * *

They went back to Miles’s room, which passed for a dressing room, so that Ethan could prepare. Will realized, as he used Miles’s tape to wrap Ethan’s hands (it wasn’t bare-knuckle fighting, after all) that Ethan had been planning to fight all along. He realized this when Ethan stripped to his waist and saw that underneath his pants Ethan was wearing the long broad shorts that all the fighters wore.

“You could’ve let me in on the plan,” Will told him quietly, trying not to let any accusation seep into his voice. 

“Somehow I didn’t think you’d approve,” Ethan said, just as quietly, as Will finished taping his left hand. 

“Does this mean we have trust issues?” 

“Did we have trust issues before? In the field?” Ethan amended. 

Will felt a little gob smacked for a moment. “Godammit,” he hissed. “Is that a trick question?” 

Infuriatingly, Ethan only smiled and leaned that little bit closer. Will became hyper-aware of their proximity and actually had to consciously tell his body not to react. Geezus, this was the second unexpected reaction he’d had to Ethan in the field since they’d started sleeping together… and they weren’t even technically in the field! 

“It’s not a trick question,” Ethan said, voice pitched low. 

Will tried very hard not to read any seduction in that tone. (Ethan wouldn’t do that _now_ …would he?) He had to get his shit together.

“I know you have my back.” 

“Always,” Will automatically replied. 

“So…if we need a quick exit…” 

“That’s not very encouraging,” Will pointed out. 

Ethan grinned. 

“But I’ve got it covered.” 

“Would it be inappropriate if I kissed you right now?” Ethan asked, his gaze dropping to Will’s mouth. 

“Wildly inappropriate,” Will answered, but he still felt a twinge of disappointment when Ethan stepped away. Through his peripheral vision, he was aware of Miles watching them. He wondered how perceptive the kid was, how much he could read into their interaction. 

“Well then,” Ethan said. “Time to fight.”

* * * * *

There was no fanfare as Ethan waited in the ring. He wasn’t even introduced, just more nameless fodder for The Russian. For the first time, Will thought Ethan looked out of place. There was no denying his good looks and trim physique. Ethan didn’t have a traditional fighter’s body, but a practiced eye could tell by the way he moved and the way that he carried himself that he was trained. Will thought half the crowd would tear Ethan to shreds just for looking the way he did. This sort of crowd always wanted the pretty boy to suffer, to be mangled beyond recognition. He thought maybe that’s why the Red Baron had agreed to replace Miles with Ethan. Not because Ethan had earned the spot the way that Miles had, but because Ethan looked like the sort of person to feed the frenzy for blood lust in the crowd. Someone like Ethan couldn’t become the champion, no matter how skilled he was. This fight was essentially a humiliation bout.

As for Ethan, he was the picture of calm, but Will knew better. Beneath that veneer was a coiled intensity waiting to explode. 

Suddenly, the arena erupted into a thunderous roar. Will watched as the Red Baron strode down the wide driveway that led directly onto the arena floor. His arms were raised and he motioned upwards, the roar of the crowd increasing in volume to match his gesture. The Red Baron was a showman, all right. 

“My dear friends,” the Red Baron said into a microphone when the roar of the crowd had leveled off. “We have come to the main event. In this corner,” he said, gesturing to carelessly to Ethan, “is the poor dumb fuck who comes from god-knows-where.” 

A derisive laugh went through the crowd, but the Red Baron silenced his audience with a small wave of his hand. 

“He is a _brave_ dumb fuck,” the Red Baron went on. “Because only a _brave_ dumb fuck would step into the ring with our champion. So, without further ado,” the Red Baron said, his voice rising. “I present your _undefeated_ champion – The Russian!”

The roar broke out again, this time accompanied by chanting. Will strained over the heads and outstretched arms of the people in front of him. He and Miles were on the main floor of the arena, Will bearing in mind Ethan’s suggestion of a quick exit. There was nowhere to exit from the second floor, an enclosed space with no windows and only a narrow metal staircase leading to the ground floor. Not that the ground floor was much of an improvement. As far as he knew, the sloping driveway was the only way out. It was like being in a cavern. 

The Russian turned out to be a bald giant ( _could it have been any more cliché?_ Will thought), which meant that he had the advantage on Ethan based on arm reach. And well, height. Strength, too. Will noted the tattoos that covered the Russian’s arms. The sleeves were intricate, but among them he recognized some well-known Russian prison gang tattoos. And Ethan’s guess that the Russian was Spetsnaz? That was all but confirmed by the tattoo on the back on the Russian’s head, just above his nape. It was the new logo of the Special Operations Forces of Russia, which meant that he’d been in the service as recently as 2013. The Spetsnaz GRU had remained active until 2010, at which point they’d been disbanded, their soldiers reassigned to the Ground Forces. But in 2013 the Special Operations Forces of Russia had been established, and Will was very familiar with that group. They were Spetsnaz rebranded.

Will had pushed himself to the front of the crowd and managed to make eye contact with Ethan. He wasn’t sure what his expression said, but Ethan gave him a half shrug in response. It was a shrug that said, _What can you do?_

“You can try not to get killed,” Will muttered. 

On his left, Miles materialized after bullying his way through the crowd. “Fuck,” the young man said. He looked at Will. “Is it terrible to say I’m kinda glad I’m not in this fight?” 

“No,” Will told him grimly. “I wouldn’t want to be in this fight either.” 

The Red Baron moved to the side of the ring where there was a chair next to a small table. A cool tall drink was waiting for him, beads of condensation quickly forming on the glass in the hot, closed air of the arena. He sat down surprisingly gracefully for a man his size and the general context of the room. He picked up the drink (it looked vaguely like a Tom Collins to Will) and after taking a deep draught, he gestured at the two fighters. 

“Begin.”

Without warning, the Russian launched himself at Ethan. Ethan was prepared for the move and Will could read the split second it took for Ethan to decide whether or not he would take the hit. He rushed forward as well, but he closed his body as his did so. When the Russian grabbed him by the shoulders and flung him across the arena, Ethan used the momentum and his defensive position to break his fall. Sure, being hurled against a stone wall hurt…but not as much as it should’ve. Will still inwardly flinched. That was just the first hit. 

Ethan pretended to be winded, but Will could see how quickly and steadily the other man had gotten to his feet. He remained crouched on the ground, one hand braced against the wall as though he needed the support. Ethan was letting the Russian come to him. The big man did so slowly, savoring the fact that his opponent was down after only one strike. When the Russian was near enough – negating his advantage in arm reach – Ethan ambushed him with his own attack, a series of punches – one to the head, two to the body – and a kick to the knee joint, carefully positioned so that the bone didn’t break that had the Russian staggering backwards. But then Ethan left himself open on his fourth punch (he would never have been so careless in a real fight, Will thought) and it was the Russian’s turn to land a punch straight into Ethan’s chest, the force of it flinging Ethan against the wall again. 

Will flinched. Second hit. Maybe Ethan knew how to throw a fight after all. 

The Russian raised his right fist again. As he swung downward, Ethan followed his momentum, grabbing the Russian by the wrist and smashing his face into the wall behind him. 

Will sighed. “Or not,” he muttered to no one. 

The Russian hit the wall with the palm of his hand in frustration before turning around. Ethan had broken his nose. A murmur of disapproval rippled through the crowd. 

Ethan backed out to the center of the ring, waiting for the Russian again. He was bordered on three sides by the audience; the Red Baron was seated on his right, Will and Miles stood to his left. Behind him was the only exit and in front of him the Russian advanced. He was grinning maniacally, the blood from his broken nose flowing into his mouth and staining his teeth red. 

They circled each other slowly in the center of the ring. Ethan was the one who broke the standoff. He threw a left-handed jab that the Russian easily deflected. Then (to Will’s silent horror), he left himself open again. The Russian took advantage, landing two more blows, one on each side of Ethan’s body. When Ethan lifted his right fist, the Russian used the same tactic that Ethan had, grabbing Ethan’s wrist in a crushing grip. But there was no wall to slam Ethan’s face into. Instead, the Russian wrapped his broad right hand around Ethan’s throat. Will thought the Russian meant to choke him, but instead of squeezing harder, he lifted Ethan’s smaller frame into the air and then threw him onto the concrete floor. 

Ethan was visibly winded by the hard throw. Will could almost feel the air being sucked out of his own lungs, the pain exploding across his back and reverberating through his skull. He thought of Ethan’s recently healed bruised ribs and wondered how many of them might be broken by the end of this fight. 

Before Ethan could recover, the Russian had picked him up again and hurled him into the crowd. This time Ethan landed on his front, tangled in the legs of the men who were cheering and yelling. Some of them began kicking him; others reached down to push him back into the arena. They needn’t have bothered. The Russian had followed Ethan, and like a rag doll that he was playing with, he grabbed Ethan by his right ankle, turned him over and dragged him back into the arena. He bent down as though he meant to pick Ethan up again.

It may have only been a second between the Russian releasing Ethan’s ankle and then bending down, but it was enough. Ethan kicked him in the face, squarely into his broken nose. The Russian’s cry of pain came out like a gurgling sound. Meanwhile, Ethan had already scrambled to his feet. They were beside the stone wall that marked the fourth boundary of the arena and Ethan used it for leverage, leaping onto it and using his momentum to attack the Russian from behind. The Russian stumbled forward, body bent and his head caught in Ethan’s arm lock. In that position, Ethan kneed him in the face, and Will could imagine the sickening crunch of more bones being shattered. 

Ethan remembered he was supposed to lose, right?

It didn’t matter. The Russian was so big that he was able to grab Ethan around the waist and lift him off the ground again. The Russian held him up to the roar of the ground before throwing him back down. It was the hardest throw yet and Will could tell that Ethan was in real pain. Forget about faking or throwing a fight. This was real and Ethan was just trying to stay alive. 

Ethan was getting to his feet when the Russian kicked him in the chest. The hit knocked Ethan back into the crowd. He stumbled, but the people by ringside were already picking him up, pushing him back into the arena like before. The Russian was moving towards him. In his most brutal move yet, Ethan attacked the Russian’s left arm and shoulder, locking it to the point of breaking. The Russian screamed. Momentarily immobilized, Ethan put two successive strikes into the Russian’s throat as he maintained the shoulder lock. There was the awful sound of the Russian choking on his own blood. 

Still, it wasn’t enough.

The Russian staggered but recovered, twisting his body so that he maneuvered Ethan in front of him. Ethan wouldn’t allow himself to be lifted this time, locking his right leg around the Russian’s leg to anchor himself. The Russian’s broad arms circled Ethan’s chest and he tried to heave him upwards, but the leg lock held. The Russian squeezed and Will thought again of Ethan’s ribs. Then Ethan was the one bending down; the Russian still holding him in that bruising grip, had no choice but to follow. Ethan swept the Russian’s left leg with his own and both men fell to the floor, Ethan landing on top of the larger man and elbowing him in the gut. He spun around, but the Russian was surprisingly agile for his size. Before Ethan could take advantage, the Russian had reversed their positions, straddling Ethan and choking him. Ethan instinctively reached for the hands around his throat, but the Russian was too strong. He changed tactics. With his left hand still prying at the chokehold, Ethan used the palm of his right hand to strike upwards, hitting the Russian in the eye. 

The Russian’s head flew backward, weakening his grip on Ethan’s throat. Ethan struck him again, straight in the chest and then lunged forward. The Russian hauled him to his feet, his hands once more finding Ethan’s throat. Ethan brought down both his arms on the Russian’s arms, hard enough that it loosened the Russian’s grip. Then Ethan had his elbow in the Russian’s throat, the Russian shifting his position, trying to get another chokehold on his opponent. 

A gunshot rang through the air.

Ethan didn’t break his concentration, even as Will scanned the arena for the source of the shot. A ripple of unease moved through the crowd and the Red Baron got to his feet. 

More shots rang out and the people were in motion. Armed men were coming down the wide driveway. At first, Will thought it was a law enforcement bust, but these weren’t uniformed men. The first few shots had been in the air to get the people’s attention, but now they were firing into the crowd. The Red Baron’s men materialized from the audience and began shooting back. Chaos erupted. People surged towards the driveway, even if it increased their chances of getting shot. Those on the balcony of the second floor were clogging the narrow staircase in their effort to escape.

Ethan used the commotion to break free from the Russian. For once, the Russian didn’t put up any resistance, too distracted by the sudden firefight. 

“Time to go,” Will said to Miles, grabbing the younger man by the arm and pulling him towards Ethan. 

“Not that way!” Miles yelled above the noise. “We can’t get out that way!” 

Miles was right. The driveway was impassable. 

“Where to?” Will yelled back, instinctively ducking to keep out of the line of fire and pulling Miles down with him. 

“Follow me!”

Miles broke Will’s grip and pushed his way through the surging crowd. 

“ETHAN!” Will yelled, waving his hands to get Ethan’s attention. Ethan saw him and Will motioned to follow Miles. Ethan nodded and then they were both cutting through the crowd after the kid. 

The panic had subsided and fights were breaking out. People were on the floor bleeding, others already dead. The shooting continued. None of the spectators had firearms. Everyone had been checked before being allowed to enter, which meant that only the Red Baron’s men were armed. 

Miles headed to the hallway that contained the offices transformed into ‘dressing’ rooms for the fighters. Will didn’t remember seeing any exits this way, but he had to trust that Miles knew the place better than he or Ethan did. A wave of relief went through him when he sensed that Ethan had joined them. With a quick glance to his right, he saw that Ethan had ducked into his dressing room and picked up his clothes. They were bundled under his right arm, together with his shoes. 

“At least I didn’t have to lose the fight,” Ethan said, as they ran down the hallway. 

“Lose the fight?” Will repeated incredulously. “You were getting your ass kicked.” 

“Not totally,” Ethan said, sounding mildly offended. “I mean, if I’d really been getting my ass kicked, you would’ve done something, right?” 

Will glanced to his right. “I would’ve killed him,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“Now look who’s being romantic?” 

Will wanted to laugh, but it just wasn’t the time.

Miles barged through the locked door at the end of the hallway. Will and Ethan followed him inside, Ethan shutting the broken door behind them. He flipped on the light switch. They were in a musty store room. 

“Are we escaping or hiding?” Will asked. 

“We’re underground,” Miles snapped back. “That’s why none of the offices we passed have any windows. That’s why it’s so claustrophobic in here. But,” he pointed to the back of the room. “This is the only room with a fucking window.”

“It’s a little small,” Will commented. 

“We’ll fit,” Ethan said. He was already striding to the rectangular plane of glass. “Help me move these boxes.” 

He and Miles pushed two of the boxes under the window and then Ethan climbed on top of them. Now he could reach the window. The hinges were rusty, but after a few tries, they gave and the rectangular window swung outwards. 

“C’mon,” Ethan said, holding out a hand to Miles. 

Miles Joined him on the box and then Ethan gave him a boost. Miles had the lankiest frame among the three of them and he had no problem wriggling his way through. 

“You’re next,” Ethan said to Will. 

Will shook his head. “No, you are,” he said. Ethan looked like he was about to object, but Will said, “I’m not the one who just went toe to toe with an ex-Spetsnaz giant.”

Ethan gave him a rueful grin and nodded, tossing his bundle of clothes outside. Then he boosted himself to the window’s ledge and crawled out. A moment later, his hand appeared to help Will. Will repeated Ethan’s actions, except he grasped Ethan’s hand for the extra leverage. 

He emerged into the cool Wisconsin night. They were at the back of The Underground. From here, the gunfire in the arena could barely be heard. Or had it stopped altogether? The parking lot was in the front of the building. Will scanned the area while Ethan dressed. He quickly slipped on his hoodie and tied the laces of his sneakers. The pants, he discarded. 

“Miles,” Ethan said, when he done. “Give me your keys.” He held out his hand. Miles dug into his jeans pocket and handed his car keys to Ethan. “You parked closer than us,” Ethan explained, and Will recognized that it was true. It would be easier to get to Miles’s car than their own. 

“Someone’s coming,” Will whispered. He moved to the edge of the back wall, and Ethan and Miles followed suit.

They didn’t know who it was and they couldn’t risk it either. As soon as the person stepped in front of Will, Will immobilized him and the man crumpled to the ground. The stranger turned out to just be a spectator trying to get away. Will pushed aside any regret he felt. The guy would wake up with a bad headache, but otherwise he should be fine. 

“Let’s go,” Will said, taking point. Ethan brought up the rear and Miles was in between them. 

They moved steadily down the long wall of the rundown building, parallel to the hallway that they had run through. When they reached the end, Will paused, surveying the parking lot. He zeroed in on Miles’s car. It was less than twenty feet away. Over half the cars were still in the lot, telling Will that their owners had probably never made it out of the arena. The place had turned into a bloodbath. 

“Clear,” he told Ethan. 

They dashed for Miles’s car, Ethan immediately taking the driver’s seat. Will got in the passenger side, moving his seat so that Miles could climb in the back. The kid didn’t look all that pleased to be sitting in the backseat of his own car.

“Nice car,” Ethan said, gunning the engine of the fire engine red 1970 Chevelle. “Must’ve cost an arm and a leg to restore. Is that why you got in bed with the Dixie Mafia?” 

In the rearview mirror, Miles sat sullenly with his arms crossed. He looked at Ethan defiantly, refusing to answer the question. 

“Save that story for later,” Will intervened. “Get us out of here first.” 

The shooting had died down in The Underground. There was no longer a mass of people trying to escape. Ethan put the Chevelle into gear and hit the accelerator. They peeled out of the parking lot followed by the sound of shouting voices but no gunshots. Ethan made the hard turn onto the road and drove into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to Cinemax's amazing action shows, _Strike Back_ and _Banshee_ , for the fight choreography used in this chapter. And the 1970 Chevelle is a nod to _Jack Reacher_ and the classic car chase scene.


	4. Chapter 4

_“In breaking news, the worst mass shooting in the state of Wisconsin occurred earlier tonight on the outskirts of Madison in an illegal fighting ring called ‘The Underground.’ Thirty-one people were killed and dozens more were injured. Police and federal agents have cordoned off the site and we are still awaiting an official statement from law enforcement officials…”_

Will lowered the volume on the motel television when Ethan came out of the shower. The other man had a motel towel wrapped around his waist. The towel should’ve been white, but instead was an unappealing off-white color. There were bruises on Ethan’s chest and Will imagined that his back was in even worse shape. He half expected Ethan to go to the other twin bed, and was deeply gratified when Ethan joined him on his twin instead. Will was sitting at the foot of the bed in front of the television, and he shifted as much as he could to the left without falling over. Ethan sat down beside him. 

“Anything interesting?” Ethan asked him. 

“No official statement yet,” Will replied. “If the feds know anything, they’re being tight-lipped.” 

Ethan came to the conclusion that sitting up required too much effort. He lay back instead and Will cast a backward glance at him. 

“What do you want to do about your car?” Will asked, after a moment. “The feds will run the plates on all the vehicles there, if they haven’t done so already.” When Ethan didn’t answer, Will continued. “We can ask Benji to scrub the plates, make sure it doesn’t lead back to your family.” 

“That’ll just raise a different set of questions,” Ethan finally said.

“A _better_ set of questions,” Will countered. “An unregistered vehicle at an illegal fighting ring? Can’t imagine that’s uncommon. I bet half the cars there were stolen. That’s another option,” Will went on, his analytical mind working ahead. “We can report the car as stolen. Who’d be surprised that it’d turn up in an underground fighting ring across the state?” 

“Ethan?” 

Still no answer. 

“Can you give me a sign here?”

Ethan sighed. “Report the car as stolen,” he said. “The feds will eventually return it. Uncle Donald loves his pick up.” 

Will nodded, even though Ethan wasn’t looking at him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He made a quick call to tech support and gave them instructions. In a matter of minutes, a fake police report for a stolen pick up with Wisconsin plates would be inserted into local law enforcement databases. When he hung up and looked back at Ethan, he saw that the other man had shut his eyes. He knew better than to think that Ethan had dozed off. Still, Will couldn’t resist the urge and he stretched out on his side next to Ethan on the cramped bed. His left hand hovered over one of the bruises in the center of Ethan’s chest, where the Russian’s hit had been strong enough to fling Ethan against the wall. He was about to touch when his wrist was caught in a strong grip. He looked up and Ethan’s steady green gaze met his. 

“I’m fine,” Ethan assured him. 

“Those bruises don’t look fine,” Will said skeptically. “And I bet those ribs aren’t great either. We should probably tape them just to be sure.” 

“I’m fine,” Ethan repeated, the tiniest hint of exasperation entering his voice. “I know what broken ribs feel like, Brandt. And these are not broken.”

Will was surprised by how much it stung to be called ‘Brandt’ so unexpectedly. He jerked out of Ethan’s grasp so quickly that the other man didn’t try to stop him. His eyes narrowed as he pushed himself up to a half-sitting position, bearing his weight on his right arm as he looked at Ethan. He wanted the separation and the height difference between them. It gave him more power as he looked down at Ethan, even as he knew that Ethan would recognize the move for what it was – a classic fight or flight response. 

“Is that how it works then?” Will asked, his voice taking on a harder edge. “I become ‘Brandt’ when you want to keep things professional? Because as far as I know, Benji and Luther are always Benji and Luther. And Jane becomes ‘Carter’ on missions, but you call her Jane the rest of the time. And –” 

Will had been about to say _And Ilsa_ , but managed to stop himself just in time. He wasn’t ready to bring Ilsa into this yet. She was in another league altogether. Instead, he took a deep breath and schooled his features, aware of Ethan’s penetrating gaze the whole time. When he opened his eyes again, Ethan’s expression had softened and that made something uncoil inside Will. It turned out that Ethan didn’t want to fight, but that shouldn’t have been so surprising. Ethan was non-confrontational by nature. Will had never met anyone who had taken the IMF’s philosophies to their very core. Ethan was the master of evasion, diversion and misdirection. Now Will wondered if that applied to Ethan’s personal relationships as well.

“As for me,” he said, more calmly. “Until this past week, it’s always been ‘Brandt.’ I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve called me ‘Will’ before we…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say. Hooked up? Started sleeping together? Became fuck buddies? What _were_ they doing? 

“…before we started this,” he finally finished, gesturing between them vaguely. 

There was a beat before Ethan spoke. “You’ve been counting then?” he said, with that infuriating half-smirk. 

Just like that Ethan’s humor had cut through all the tension. 

“Shut up,” Will groaned, even as his mind was registering that Ethan had used humor to evade the topic.

He let go of the fight or flight response and lay back on the bed. It really was a tight fit. This time, it was Ethan’s turn to shift to his side to make room for Will. He mirrored the other man’s previous actions, propping himself up on one arm. But Will didn’t grab his wrist when Ethan rested his hand on Will’s chest, right over Will’s beating heart. 

“Whatever this is,” Ethan suddenly said, all levity gone from his voice. “It’s _real_. I don’t pretend to know how it’s going to work when we’re finally back _at work_ ,” he went on. “But I do know that I _want_ it to work, and I’m going to do all that I can to make sure that it _does_ work. With some help from you, of course.” 

“Of course,” Will agreed dryly, but inside his heart was fluttering. He wondered if Ethan could feel the irregular heartbeat beneath his hand. “So, what you’re saying is we’re just going to figure this shit out as we go along.” He glanced up and caught Ethan’s bemused expression.

The other man shrugged, an almost half-apology in the gesture. “That seems to work pretty well for us,” he admitted. 

“That’s not exactly encouraging,” Will replied, his mind flitting to how many times their well laid plans had gone awry, how Ethan often improvised on the spot, how Plan B became Plan C or Plan D and that there were only twenty-six letters in the alphabet. 

And yet…somehow…. probably through Ethan’s sheer will and the implicit trust the team had in each other, things did work out in the end. 

“Does it bother you so much that I call you ‘Brandt’?” Ethan suddenly said, snapping Will out of his thoughts. 

“I suppose it shouldn’t,” Will eventually said. “I mean, not now that things are different. Boundaries are good, I think. They keep things in perspective.” 

“Because if I start calling you ‘Will’ in front of the others,” Ethan continued. “They’re gonna know that something’s changed, which I don’t think is a bad thing,” he added. “But it’s not something we’ve talked about either.” 

Will flung an arm across his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. “Do we have to talk about this now?” he asked. 

“I thought you wanted to talk.” 

“I do. Just…small doses, okay? I’ve spent so much time wanting you that I still can’t quite believe that I _have_ you. And fuck. Did I just say that out loud?”

Ethan was laughing now. “You really are adorable,” he said. 

“SHUT UP.” 

Ethan’s laughter was cut short by a ringing cell phone. It was Ethan’s, placed on top of the same bureau that the motel TV was mounted on. Ethan stood up to answer the call, so quickly that Will wasn’t able to yank the towel from the other man’s waist in revenge. Ethan threw him a look that said, _Really?_

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Will told him a little petulantly. 

“Doesn’t mean I should drop trou,” Ethan replied with a smirk. 

Will had lost the will to fight, even if they were just play-acting and he lay on the bed feeling pleasantly content. _This was progress_ , he thought. Progress to what, he still wasn’t sure, but it was definitely progress.

That contented feeling evaporated a moment later when he learned that Benji was on the line. He sat up, alert, as Ethan put Benji on speaker. 

“What do you have?” Ethan asked. 

“Nothing good,” Benji grumbled. His voice sounded rough, as though he’d recently woken up, which he probably had given that it was well past midnight. Good ole Benji. Pulling up files in the dead of night just because Ethan asked. “But I bet you knew that already.” 

“Should I get the kid?” Will asked Ethan, gesturing to the adjoining room. 

They were staying at the motel where Miles had originally booked for the weekend. After leaving The Underground, Ethan had driven around for a while before stopping at a 24-hour diner. Over a greasy burger and fries (two black coffees for the IMF agents), Miles had told his story of how he’d gotten involved in the illegal fighting. It was a typical story, Will had thought, noting how Ethan hadn’t been surprised by any of it. It was evident that Ethan had done far more digging into Miles’s illegal activity than he’d originally let on. Now that he had names and faces to match some of his hypotheses and clearer details from Miles himself, Ethan had brought Benji in to do some deeper digging. Luther, Will knew, was already on assignment somewhere in East Asia. He’d been immediately cleared for duty after Kashmir. 

“Is that Brandt?” Benji said, at the sound of Will’s voice. 

Will wanted to laugh at the blatant mix of emotions that came through Benji’s tone. He could hear the surprise, the undertone of accusation, and the slight hint of envy. Benji’s man crush-hero worship of Ethan was adorable in its own right. He was so transparent at times that Will wondered how he had ever passed the field agent exams. Then he remembered how effortlessly Benji had lied for Ethan when Ethan had been hunted by the CIA, and he knew that there was much more to the former tech than met the eye. 

“It’s me, Benji,” Will answered. “The kid?” he asked Ethan again. 

Ethan shook his head. “We’ll fill him in in the morning,” he said. “When we have a better idea of what we’re going to do.” 

“What’s Brandt doing there?” Benji interjected. “Are you two on a mission?” 

“No,” Ethan told him. “We’re on leave.” 

“Right,” Benji said sarcastically. “That’s why I’m looking into the Dixie Mafia and the Russian mob.” 

“We’re helping a friend,” Ethan amended. 

“Do you need more help?” Benji asked hopefully. “Because I’m not exactly busy. And to be frank, things are awfully dull here without you. I don’t even know what’s happening. How is the IMF even functioning without a Secretary, without its best agent and without its best analyst? I’ve been put on data-mining duty, Ethan. _Data mining_. I feel like I’m working for the CIA again!” He took a deep breath, his rant apparently finished. “So,” Benji said, after a pause. “Do you need more help?”

“We’re good,” Ethan replied, wincing slightly as he aggravated one of his not-broken-ribs. 

Will gave him a withering look, but moved over again so that Ethan could join him on the bed. 

“Let’s hear it, Benji,” Ethan said.

“Well, so far as I can tell, there’s an interesting power play going on down there. Who would’ve thought that Wisconsin would be a hotbed of criminal activity, eh?” 

“Not me,” Will said honestly. When Ethan had first invited him to visit Stone Lake, the thought of getting involved with the Dixie Mafia and the Russian mob hadn’t even seemed like a possibility. And look where they were now…

“So, the Dixie Mafia controls most of the southern territory. Their HQ is still Mississippi, but they’ve expanded – everything from South Carolina all the way to Arizona. California is its own animal. But they’ve been moving northward too. They’ve got a strong foothold in Kentucky, and they’ve been expanding into Indiana, Missouri and Kansas.” 

“Wisconsin’s not far behind,” Ethan said. 

“No, it isn’t,” Benji agreed. “The problem there is the north belongs to the Russian mob. In fact, the whole eastern seaboard belongs to the Russian mob and no points for guessing where they’re based.” 

“Tell me about the Red Baron,” Ethan said.

“The Red Baron,” Benji repeated, “otherwise known as Anatoly Vankin. He’s the Brigadier of Madison county – runs all the operations, whether it’s drugs, prostitution, human trafficking – you name it, he’s probably involved in it. But his personal favorite is illegal fighting. He loves the fights, even hosts them almost every weekend.” 

“Well, that explains The Underground,” Will stated. 

“Heard about that, did you?” Benji said. “Be hard not to, I s’ppose. It’s all over the news. Bloody massacre that was.” 

There was an uncomfortable silence. 

“Wait,” Benji said, realization dawning on him. “You two weren’t _there_ , were you?” When there was no answer, Benji practically yelled. “OH MY GOD, you were! Are you two all right?” 

“We’re fine, Benji,” Ethan said, in his most placating tone. 

Will glowered at the other man before saying, “Well, Ethan got himself beat up by an ex-Spetsnaz giant, but aside from that, yeah. We’re fine.” 

“Ethan was _fighting_? With broken ribs?”

“They’re not broken,” Ethan said with exasperation. “I'm fine, Benji. Really. Nothing a good night’s sleep and some painkillers won’t take of, okay? Did you get anything on The Russian?” 

“You mean the ex-Spetsnaz giant that you were fighting?” Benji shot back. 

“That would be the one.” 

“Well, he really is ex-Spetsnaz, that’s for sure. He was Special Operations Forces until 2013 when the SOF was divided into air and naval units. Then he switched to the navy. His real name is Aleksei Ivanov, but he’s not the one you should be worried about.”

“No?”

“No,” Benji confirmed. “It’s his team leader, Slavi, that you should be concerned about. Ivanov is just muscle, but Slavi is the real deal. One of the heads of security, and by all accounts, goes straight up the food chain to New York.” 

“Do you have a picture?” Ethan asked. 

“Already sent it to you.”

Ethan scrolled through his phone and pulled up the recently sent photo. It was a black and white image of a dark-haired man in an army uniform. He was out in the field, his face weather-beaten and looking away from the camera. 

“Only photograph I could find,” Benji said, before Ethan could ask him about the quality of the shot. 

“It’s good enough,” Ethan said, passing the phone to Will so he could take a look. 

Will shook his head at the unspoken question. “He wasn’t there tonight,” he said. “Maybe Miles knows him.” 

“Miles?” Benji repeated. 

“The friend we’re helping,” Ethan answered. 

“Your friend must be in a lot of trouble,” Benji commented. 

“Tell me about it,” Ethan said with a sigh. He looked like he wanted to lie back down on the bed.

“What about the Dixie Mafia?” Will asked. 

“The hit tonight on The Underground?” Benji said. “That was definitely the Dixie Mafia sending a message. Probably trying to get the Red Baron, and if they did get him, then the Russians will send in Slavi to clean up the mess.” 

“Bold of them,” Will said. “Seeing as it’s not even their turf.” 

Will could practically hear Benji’s shrug over the line. 

“I’m still not sure what Miles’s role in this is,” Will told Ethan. “Earlier you insinuated that he was working for the Dixie Mafia. But the Red Baron told us that Miles owes _him_ money, which means that Miles is working for the Russian mob.” 

“He’s a mole,” Ethan stated. “The Dixie Mafia planted him.” 

“WHAT?” Benji and Will said at the same time.

“At the diner,” Ethan explained. “Miles told us that he began as a runner. Now, he never opened those packages, but we can made an educated guess that he was running drugs. When that bust happened, I’m thinking that’s how the Dixie Mafia got to him. That shipment was lost, stolen – whatever. The point is, Miles suddenly owes the Russians a lot of money that he can’t pay, but he’s got skills. So, he goes into the Red Baron’s illegal fighting. He learns about the organization, sees how things work and feeds the information back to Dixie. The Red Baron seemed to like him, and my guess is Miles is doing more for the Russians than throwing fights.” 

“You’re saying that the bust was a set-up,” Will translated. 

“Miles isn’t stupid,” Ethan replied. “He wouldn’t have been caught otherwise.” 

“Geezus, Ethan,” Benji said. “If you’re right – if Miles really is selling the Russians out to the Dixie Mafia and if the Russians find out…” 

“He’s completely fucked,” Ethan finished for him. 

“What’re we going to do?” Will asked. 

“We’re going to get some sleep,” Ethan told him a little wearily. “We’ll figure it out in the morning.” 

“It’s already morning,” Will reminded him. 

“In a few hours then,” Ethan said. “Benji? Thanks for the assist.” 

“If you need me down there,” Benji began. 

“We’ll let you know,” Ethan told him. “You get some sleep too.” 

“Fine,” Benji said, knowing when to admit defeat. “Good night, you two.” 

“’Night, Benji,” Will said. “Thanks again.” He disconnected the line and handed the phone back to Ethan, who slumped back onto the bed. Will eyed him. “So…?” 

“So, I really meant it about getting some sleep.” 

“Do you want to get under the covers? Or are you going to sleep like that?” 

Ethan got the point and stood up, allowing Will to pull down the covers of the motel bed. 

“Towel?” Will suggested. 

“You just want to molest me,” Ethan replied with a smirk, but he stripped off the towel and tossed it to Will. 

Will caught the towel effortlessly, eyed Ethan shamelessly as the other man got into bed, and placed his phone on the bedside table. Will threw the towel over his shoulder. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said. “That whole place smelled like ass.” 

“I’ll be here,” Ethan mumbled. 

When Will got out of the shower, Ethan had turned on his side so that Will would have room on the bed. Will finished drying his hair and then joined Ethan under the covers. He spooned behind the other man, one arm automatically wrapping around Ethan’s waist. Ethan had the fresh clean scent of soap that Will liked so much. He planted a kiss on the other man’s shoulder before saying, “Still awake?” 

“Not for much longer,” Ethan murmured. 

“You’re going to get Miles out of this mess, aren’t you?” 

“That’s what I promised his mom.” 

“Even if it means taking on the Russian mob and the Dixie Mafia?” When Ethan didn’t answer, Will continued. “This isn’t what we do, Ethan. We’re spies. There are other law enforcement agencies to handle this: the DEA, the ATF, the FBI. Hell, there’s local law enforcement and state police.” 

Will could actually feel the alertness flow back into Ethan’s body. It wasn’t that Ethan had become tense at Will’s words; it was more that Will knew Ethan’s sense of awareness, his sharpness and focus had heightened while Will had spoken. 

“Maybe those other agencies need a little help,” Ethan stated. There was a finality to his tone that Will recognized. “The only way Miles gets out of this is if he can turn in state’s evidence. Something big, something he can barter in exchange for WITSEC protection. And we’re going to help him get that evidence.” 

“And if we can’t do that?” 

“Then we’re probably going to have to kill a lot of bad guys, and I’d rather not go to war with the Russian mob and the Dixie Mafia.” 

Will sighed. “Y’know,” he said. “When you invited me down to Stone Lake, I kinda thought this might be a relaxing vacation.” 

Ethan chuckled. “Regretting it already?” he asked. 

“No,” Will said honestly. “Not if I have you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to Paramount. No infringement is intended; no profit is being made.


End file.
